


Black Russian

by Flourish



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Drugs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flourish/pseuds/Flourish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregor relaxes with the help of Ivan, Miles, and an imported vice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Russian

**Author's Note:**

> For Cliche Bingo. Unbetaed. Set sometime after "Labyrinth" but probably before "The Borders of Infinity," while Miles is on home leave for some reason. Oh, and in my world, Funyuns have survived as the only proper munchies food, no matter _how_ far in the future the Vorkosigan saga is set.

“Where ever,” Gregor said carefully, enunciating each word, “did you procure this amazing stuff?”

“Earth, where all good things come from,” Miles said slowly. “My herm brought it.”

Ivan guffawed. “_Your_ herm?”

“My herm…” Miles said, “It’d like to be my herm… or maybe not, it hasn’t asked in a long time. Wonder why? The quaddie? Surely not…”

“You aren’t,” Gregor paused to drink in smoke from the tube of the hookah, “going to bring a hermaphrodite back to be Countess Vorkosigan someday, are you?” He judiciously studied the tube, the elegant blue glass body of the hookah, and the smoldering coal atop the bowl. “Unless she brings more of this. This is good.”

Miles was planning to protest, planning to insist on Bel’s proper pronoun of “it” and some gender-neutral variant of “Countess,” but he hesitated, observing curious motes in the sunbeams filtering down to his couch. Ivan suggested, “Or Funyuns. I’d murder some Funyuns right now.”

“Mmm,” Gregor said with relish, “and _maple chaw_. Miles, you’re the one with all the maple trees, can’t you get us some chaw?”

“I could get us some,” Miles said, “only I don’t think I should be allowed to fly a lightflyer right now.”

“I think I’d be _better_ at flying than usual now,” Ivan protested. “In the zone… Like Lord Vortalon in the vids…”

“Okay, Ivan.”

For a moment it seemed like they were going to stand and find a lightflyer and do something truly stupid, but it passed and they subsided. Ivan took the tube from Gregor. He drew in smoke and made bizarre faces while exhaling it.

“You know,” he announced, “I don’t think anyone really can blow smoke rings. I’ve never seen anyone do it.”

They lay, staring into space. The wind played in the green Earth-imported trees of Gregor’s summer garden; the dappled sunlight played across their reclining couches. The hookah’s sickly, heavy smell warred with the scent of the flowers about them. Miles watched, fascinated, as a bee landed on his hand and twitched its feelers at him.

“I’m awfully comfortables,” Gregor said.

“What?” Ivan giggled.

“_Com-fort-a-bles_,” Gregor repeated pompously in what Miles had come to think of as his Emperor voice. “Let’s not go get maple chaw. I’ll ask someone to get me Funyuns. Guard!”

The person who appeared looked a little familiar to Miles. He was younger than most of the palace guard, and his face was a bit more animated than usual, though he was undoubtedly as humorless as the rest of them. Wait - _humorless_ \- that sprung a memory.

“_Lobachik_,” Miles blurted out, “I know you!”

Lobachik looked extremely disconcerted. Well, Miles reflected, it had to be disconcerting to be waiting on an emperor who was obviously as high as a kite, alongside two of his former Academy classmates. Well done on his own part, he thought. Gregor shouldn’t be so serious all the time. And designer drugs weren’t the thing for him, nor ethanol - too much of a depressant. No, the good old Earth classics were the way to go.

“Vorkosigan?” Lobachik’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You were saying…?”

“Sorry,” Miles mumbled. He’d thought he’d been careful not to inhale too much, but maybe the smoky air was getting to him. It was hard to calculate a dose for his small body - not that he could calculate anything right now. “Ah - would you like some? Come catch up? Ivan, won’t it be nice to play catch-up with good ol' Lobachik?”

“Er - sir?” Lobachik’s eyes flitted between Miles and Gregor. For the first time, Miles realized Lobachik was wearing full formal red-and-blues. Actually, Miles realized, he himself was wearing red-and-blues too. And so was Gregor. And Ivan. What about that? Why were they wearing them again?

“Go get us some Funyuns and then join us,” Gregor said expansively. “That’s an Imperial order.”

“Yes sir,” Lobachik said, but he looked doubtful. Miles waved the hookah tube away and Ivan passed it back to Gregor, who tried his hand at blowing smoke rings himself, with even less success than Ivan. “Er, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Did you remember the audience with the Emperor haut Fletchir Giaja’s emissary this afternoon? In about -” he checked his chrono, pulling back the heavily-gilt cuff of his dress uniform to do so, “ten minutes?”

“Should I have?” Lobachik looked about ready to bolt, but Gregor saved the day by looking down at his own red-and-blues and sighing and saying carefully, “yes, I suppose I should have.”

“Are - uh - Ivan and I supposed to go too?” Miles asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach, despite the pleasant buzz.

“Yes, sir,” Lobachik said firmly. "The Ceta Emperor asked for news of you especially. Remember?"

A little despairing “why?” nearly escaped Miles’ lips, but instead he blinked his eyes several times, slapped his face and then Ivan’s (“Ow! Miles, what’d you do that for?”) and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. Gregor was still lying down. It took Miles a minute to realize he wasn’t crying - he was laughing, silently and uncontrollably.

“The Cetas - are going - to be so mad - if they ever figure it out -”

After a moment, Miles started laughing too.

The audience was much more enjoyable than usual.


End file.
